I have heard unsavory rumors about you and the umbrella-maker's daughter

I could wish for nothing more than to die for a childish dream in which I truly believed.

A man sometimes devotes his life to a desire which he is not sure will ever be fulfilled. Those who laugh at this folly are, after all, no more than mere spectators of life.

Yes -- or rather, it's not so much that I want to die as that I'm tired of living.

It is unfortunate for the gods that, unlike us, they cannot commit suicide.

Isn't there someone kind enough to come strangle me in my sleep?

..he understood far more deeply than anyone else the loneliness that lurked beneath his jaunty mask.

I don't have the strength to keep writing this. To go on living with this feeling is painful beyond description. Isn't there someone kind enough to strangle me in my sleep?

I have no conscience at all -- least of all an artistic conscience. All I have is nerves.

As you can imagine, those who had fallen this far had been so worn down by their tortures in the seven other hells that they no longer had the strength to cry out.

It's not so much that I want to die as that I'm tired of living.

The glory of God is our rear guard.

Music is the major form of communication. It's the commonest vibration, the people's news broadcast, especially for kids.

I had the advantage of reading the book, and when the script was first submitted to me, it was just another gangster story - the east side taking over the west side and all that.

I believe that in each generation God has called enough men and women to evangelize all the yet unreached tribes of the earth. It is not God who does not call. It is man who will not respond!

I love being in a show. I love the community aspect of it. I like the discipline of it, too.

..you wanted to be the Superman who was never Clark Kent

If I make a record I love, then somebody will like it. Maybe not everybody, but that won't matter.

Holiness never goes out of fashion.

Psychedelics are probably responsible for every aspect of human evolution apart from the decline in bodyhair.

Art is the Western myth, with which we both console ourselves and make ourselves.